About Last Night (About Last Night #1)(67)

“What?” I said as I folded an arm behind my neck, getting comfortable.

“I found something even better!” She blew out a breath. “It was like the gods of event planning were watching over me or something. Talk about relief. I was about one minute away from pooping myself.”

I pursed my lips in thought. “That could’ve gone badly.”

She chuckled then, and I wished I could see the way her face lit up when she did. There was something about Mia and her laughs. But nothing could beat the way Mia smiled when she was really happy about something. It was stunning. Simply beautiful.

There was nothing more I wanted to do than to lie with her, to tangle my legs with hers and hold her close, listening to her tell me about her day. The sad truth of it was I didn’t even feel the need to f*ck her. I just wanted to be close to her, to place my head on her chest and listen to her f*cking heartbeat.

Oh, man. I was becoming a total *.

But somehow, my need for Mia was more important. I knew this, because without thinking, I asked, “Can I come over?”

Without hesitation, she responded, “Of course.” She prattled off her address, and within minutes, I was in my car on the way over.

Just because I wanted to.





Chapter ThirtyTwo



Mia




Rushing out of the shower, I dried off, throwing my towel behind me, and slipped on my pajamas. Not my ratty tee, but the mauve silky set I bought on my shopping expedition with Edita. The spaghetti-strapped tank felt amazing against my bare skin, and the shorts barely covered my butt cheeks, but this was Quinn I was trying to impress.

I stood then stopped as my stomach flipped. I placed a calming hand on it. Oh, God. Quinn was coming over. As in, coming over to my apartment. To my place of residence. Where I showered and ate, and where I did mediocre things like sleep!

Gah! Why did I feel like this was something special? Shaking my head at the fluttering in my belly, I sighed lightly and scolded myself mentally for making this more than it was. Maybe Quinn did this with other female friends. Maybe this was nothing to him at all except a way to pass time. Maybe he was bored and I was simply available.

It made me think of something my brother had told me when I was a teenager. ‘Don’t make a man a priority if he only makes you an option.’ Was that what I was doing? Was I going out of my way to appease Quinn? Was I only his option? Because, quite frankly, that would suck balls.

My gut sank. I thought about changing into something a little more conservative, when a light knock on my front door sounded. My eyes went to the door. I looked down at myself and slapped a hand on my forehead. What the hell was I thinking?

Another knock sounded. It was too late. I’d answer the door as I was, regardless of how pathetic I was. I could pull off sexy if I really put my mind to it. I made my way to the door, slipping on my fluffy pink slippers on the way. I unlocked the door and opened it, ignoring the churning in my gut.

Quinn leaned on the doorframe, his tall body relaxed, his face somber. Even though he wore black sweatpants and a gun-metal grey tee, the strength of his legs were clear to see and his arms looked delicious in that plain shirt. When he caught sight of what I was wearing, he straightened and blinked down at me. “Wow.”

My cheeks burst into flame. “Um…”

He reached out and his fingers gently plucked at a thin strap of my silken tank. “This is nice.”

I swallowed hard before choking out, “Come in.” I followed this by taking his large hand in mine and pulling him in. It was then that I noticed the small white bag in his other hand. He handed it to me without a word. I took it with narrowed eyes.

Truthfully, I loved surprises, but if this was another vibrator, I’d hit him over the head with it. In complete Quinn fashion, he just grinned while I dug inside. Whatever it was felt soft. I pulled the item out and gasped.

Dropping the bag, I gaped at the clearly expensive sweater. It was the color of caramel, was softer than a cloud in heaven, and looked fancy. I checked the tag and squeaked.

Armani.

Oh no. It wasn’t just Armani.

It was mothertruckin’ cashmere.

Didn’t he know what this meant?

I could never wear this. This would be the one item of clothing that I brought out to look at, to admire, but I could never risk wearing this goddamn, stupid sweater, because of my being a klutz. I’d give it a week. It would have a hole in it. I threw it at him and jumped back, watching in horror as the sleeve of the sweater draped itself over his head.

He pulled it off and looked at me like I had lost my mind as he muttered slowly, “O-kay then.”

But I shook my head. “I can’t take that. It’s beautiful.” I clutched a hand to my chest and squeezed at my heart. “Like, beautiful. But I can’t accept that, Quinn.” Then I got angry. “Why would you get me something like that anyways? You’re not allowed to buy me things. I’m not a kept woman. This isn’t a historical romance.” I placed my hands on my hips and glared at him, poking a finger into his chest. “You are not a duke.” I straightened my shoulders and crossed my arms over my chest. “I will not be a duke’s mistress.”

I replayed everything I had just said in slow motion. Ridiculous things said ridiculously in slow motion only made said ridiculous things more ridiculous. My eyes darted everywhere but at him. My chest heaved, and for a moment there, I thought I would faint from mortification.